How long had they walked through that vibrant market?
Suddenly feeling a sense of déjà vu, Riyan stopped walking.
“.......”
In Riyan's line of sight was the building standing opposite him.
Its exterior, more than half of its walls overtaken by green vines, showed the passage of long years. There wasn't any signboard to speak of, but the scent of grass drifting out from inside was familiar.
That must have been the source of the déjà vu he'd felt.
“Hm.”
When he glanced over, Haral jerked his chin. Realizing this was the place they'd been looking for, Riyan stepped into the building.
“Welco...... me.”
The old man, his face dotted with liver spots, had begun a vigorous greeting at the sound of the door opening, but his voice shrank when he saw Haral carrying a sword.
Then, recognizing the crest on Haral's clothes, he tilted his head.
“Rhodus Gladiator School? We haven't had any orders from there, though?”
“Never mind that. It's personal business today.”
“Ah, is that so? What kind?”
At the old man's question, Haral leaned against the entrance, crossed his arms, and pointed at Riyan with his chin.
“This customer?”
His words were polite, but the look in his eyes said: what would a greenhorn who doesn't know the first thing about herbs want here?
Riyan chuckled at that and slowly spoke.
“Do you have Silver Radiance Flower?”
“......Pardon?”
Starting with the old man's flustered reaction, Riyan went on.
“I need Silver Radiance Flower, White Frost Mushroom, and Black Cloud Grass. I also need nettle, belladonna, and thistle, but those are relatively common, so they should be easy to get. Lastly, I need Summit Water as well. High purity, of course.”
“.......”
Mouth agape, the old man unconsciously looked at Haral, and Haral nonchalantly shrugged.
“What are you looking at? The customer asked if you have them, didn't he?”
***
The private room that had become familiar enough to feel like his nest by now.
Back from his outing, Riyan set the pouch he had been carrying down on the desk.
When he opened the pouch, herbs of every color, each with its own distinct scent, came into view.
‘This should do.’
What was he trying to do?
Riyan intended to make use of something he had learned in his past life.
During the grueling war, Riyan had taken in many comrades, and among them were barbarians with peculiar customs.
Warriors of barbarian tribes who couldn't even speak the same language and often clashed with the kingdom's army. Even so, with no other choice, the two groups ended up having to fight back to back.
‘It was only natural.’
Because monsters, unlike humans, didn't attack based on their target's class or race.
The enemy of my enemy is my ally, as they say; after sharing hardships and joys with them, it was perhaps natural that a bond formed. And the lore and culture unique to the barbarian tribes that he had learned and absorbed along the way remained intact in his head.
‘A kind of awakening elixir.’
The hot-tempered barbarian tribes used to take this elixir when they had to keep fighting even after pouring out all their strength.
The surprising thing was that its effects applied to knights as well.
Taken when one had used up all one's power and exhaustion set in, it temporarily restored one's aura so one could fight again. Of course, it came with the severe side effect of requiring a period of recuperation afterward.
For that reason, it saw little use among the knights, for whom being sent back onto the battlefield after a brief rest was routine.
Of course, that didn't apply to him now.
‘It's still a match with rules of its own, so I won't need to worry about danger after the fight's over.’
Riyan nodded and began working.
‘First, fire.’
He put charcoal into the small brazier he had bought at the market, lit it, and placed a decoction bowl on top.
‘Boil the Summit Water.’
Then he poured the Summit Water into the bowl and prepared the next step while it came to a boil.
After laying the stirring stick he had received from the herbalist beside it as well, he began taking out the ingredients one by one.
‘Silver Radiance Flower.’
A flower known to grow by drinking in moonlight. It truly was an ingredient that accumulated the moon's energy.
‘White Frost Mushroom and Black Cloud Grass.’
A mushroom said to grow in the shade all winter long, taking the frost, and Black Cloud Grass, whose roots spread out like black mist.
Starting with the Silver Radiance Flower, every one of them was strong in yin energy.
Then, once the water boiled, he added the chopped White Frost Mushroom and thistle and simmered them gently.
‘Half an hour.’
Next, he added the finely minced Silver Radiance Flower and Black Cloud Grass, let it simmer once more, and finally finished by adding a small amount of nettle leaves and belladonna berry juice.
It was a task that required strict control of quantities and time, but Riyan calmly moved his hands with unwavering eyes.
‘About two months until the match.’
It might sound like plenty of time, but it was tight for building a body fit for fighting.
But Riyan was confident.
Through the fight in the dining hall on the first day and the spars with the instructors, he had felt that the power engraved in his soul remained.
What actually worried him wasn't the match, but something else.
Bubble, bubble.
Watching the decoction boil, Riyan tilted his head askew.
‘They said today's knights use mana.’
The proof was what he had seen and read in the history book, and the words of Berka, the Supervisor, and Haral.
Moreover, he had to assume the ‘Arcana Council’ was among the higher-ups involved with the Colosseum.
Berka had said that the owner of the monster he'd killed before was a Standing Member of the Arcana Council.
‘To them, my appearance could be a major warning sign. They must believe the era of knights who wielded the old power, Aether, is over.’
Aether.
Said to be what makes up the world, it was a somewhat vague power, unlike mana, which was relatively concrete.
In the past, mages had tried time and again to graft the fundamental power called Aether onto magic, but in the end, it all resulted in failure.
The knights of the past, on the other hand, had used that mysterious power by being granted it.
Some, seeing their might, described it as a power that dwelt in the noble soul of a knight.
There was some credibility to that. Perhaps that was why he had still been able to use that power even now that his body had changed.
One who wields power like a tool.
One who treats power as part of his own body.
In any case, mana and Aether showed their difference, represented by two groups that could never share common ground: mages and knights.
But now, the knights who wielded Aether had been purged en masse from the Empire.
It meant revealing it rashly could be dangerous.
‘I'll need to use it carefully.’
Bluish moonlight at dawn came in through the window.
In it, his silver-shining hair swayed before his cold eyes.
***
After that, three or four months and a few more weeks passed.
Waking up early in the morning, Haral washed neatly and put on his dress uniform. Then he stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his attire.
It was the day of the decisive battle.
On a small scale, it was the day the bet he had poured his silver into would be decided, and on a large scale, it was a chance to undo the mistake he had made.
And so, in the end, Haral honestly admitted that he was nervous.
“It's not like I'm the one fighting.”
Letting out a wry laugh, Haral left his quarters.
In the early morning, the air at the school was heavy and still. Was it because of the dark clouds? Haral's steps as he headed toward the area where the gladiators lived felt damp as well.
After walking for a while, he saw the drill ground in the distance.
It was early enough that everyone should still be asleep, but there was a figure on the drill ground. It was Riyan.
His posture was odd, though. He was sitting cross-legged with both palms facing the sky, resting on his knees.
‘I just can't get used to that.’
Meditation, was it?
Having obtained complete autonomy over his training from Berka, Riyan always woke up earlier than anyone else, did his own training on the drill ground, and then, to finish, sat for a long time in that bizarre posture.
As if he's some kind of monk.
Not that Haral had anything to say about it. Even if he really was training like a monk, it didn't matter.
No matter what anyone said, in this world, skill was everything. Whether you came from violent criminals, barbarians, or apostates.
“You're here.”
Perhaps hearing Haral's footsteps, Riyan opened his closed eyes.
His ash-gray hair, damp with the dawn dew, shone silvery white. And between those swaying strands were his pitch-black eyes.
Haral always got a strange feeling when he saw those eyes. As if they were peering into every corner of his mind.
“Yeah.”
“It's today.”
“Right. It's today.”
Riyan slowly rose.
At that, Haral tilted his head.
Had it been raining until a moment ago? Riyan's shirt was soaking wet.
So it clung tightly to his body, revealing his outline as it was, and at that sight, Haral couldn't help but let out an incredulous laugh.
When he had first seen him, the kid looked like he'd snap if you tapped him, but in a little under half a year, he seemed like a different person entirely.
He had put on a decent amount of flesh, yet had no excess fat. His muscles, too, were firm only where they were needed. Ordinary gladiators usually wanted bulky muscles for intimidation and strength.
Had he grown taller in the meantime, too? Now his eyes were level with Haral's.
And from the first time he saw him until this very moment.
As always, Riyan's indifferent gaze was the same as ever.
“Then I'll ask you again today.”
“Suit yourself.”
It wasn't hard to tell what he was asking for.
Haral raised his hand and drew his sword from its scabbard.
There was nothing new about it. Ever since he had personally taken charge of Riyan's training, he had often accepted Riyan's requests to spar.
It was a strange experience for Haral, too.
Getting up early in the morning, rubbing his eyes, and exchanging a few blows with Riyan, he could feel his worries about the silver he'd bet vanish before he knew it.
It would be more accurate to say a small excitement took over his chest.
Clearly, Riyan's skill was the real thing.
‘I've been making my living by the blade for over a decade, too.’
Haral looked back on the days gone by.
The dozens of spars he'd had with Riyan.
He had never once beaten Riyan.
But that didn't mean he had lost, either. That made it all the more ironic. The world of gladiators was relatively clear-cut. You either won or lost—one of the two.
Yet to twist that fixed order, and dozens of times at that, how unfathomably high above would one have to be to look down on one's opponent?
He had tried getting desperate, and he had tried getting angry. He had even trained like mad where Riyan couldn't see.
But what couldn't be done couldn't be done.
Haral had no choice but to admit it.
Those jet-black eyes that were looking at him even now.
That he had already been swallowed whole in their deep, dark depths.
“You monstrous bastard.”
The words Haral spat out to steady himself, as he pointed his sword and had one pointed at him in return.
Yet strangely, hearing them, Riyan wore a faint smile that was unlike him.
“It's been a while since I heard that.”
“Have I said that before?”
“No. It's the first time you've said it, Instructor.”
“Then who'd you hear it from? You don't even have friends, do you?”
“I don't make them. I have no need for them.”
“Everyone your age says that. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”
“.......”
Well, he's at that age.
Contrary to Haral's thoughts, Riyan's head slowly began to tilt.
And that day, Haral experienced his first defeat.